


Weaving Revenge

by Macdragon



Category: Dragonriders of Pern
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdragon/pseuds/Macdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Prideth dies, Kylara is sent to the Weaver Hall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weaving Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jewels (bjewelled)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjewelled/gifts).



Larad tightened his grip on the dragonrider's waist and gasped as they emerged from between above Benden Weyr. Between had chilled him to the bone, and now he was high in the air. He was lucky he didn't end up needing a new pair of pants. The Bluerider in front of him turned around, grinning roguishly. "You okay, my Lord?"

"I'm fine!" Larad yelled, using the wind as an excuse to raise his voice. The rider shrugged and turned around again. Larad hoped he was focusing on flying as the agile Blue made a dangerous turn in the air and started diving towards the earth. The Lord Holder let out a small, involuntary squeak and squeezed the rider's middle even tighter. He closed his eyes, and didn't open them again until he felt the firm thud of ground.

"You can release your death grip now, sir," the rider said, barely holding back a laugh. Larad glared at him, slowly disentangling his arms. The rider jumped down to the ground, then gave him a hand down. Larad stepped gingerly on the blue's forearm, then onto the floor of the weyrbowl. To his dismay, a graceful landing was impossible. He was still shaky, and he stumbled as he stepped down, toppling into the rider. "Whoa there," the Bluerider said cheerfully, propping him up.

Larad scowled at the rider--who, maddeningly, was at least a head taller than he was--and straightened up. A stocky redhead was bouncing across the Weyrbowl towards them. "There's Healer Taranis," the bluerider said, patting Larad on the shoulder in a patronizing gesture that had him glaring daggers again. "This is where I leave you."

"Thank you for the ride," Larad said acidly. He was still scowling at the Bluerider's back when Taranis arrived, smiling up at him.

"Welcome to Benden, my Lord," Taranis said, holding his hand out. Larad shook his firmly, then stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "I expect you want to see your sister immediately?"

"Yes." Larad nodded, all business, and followed Taranis across the 'bowl and into the lower caverns. The caverns were busy, filled with women cooking and doing laundry, and homey smells filled the air. Larad's stomach growled. He hoped that he Weyr would offer him dinner. Taranis led him down a hallway filled with doors.

"This is where we keep our...permanent patients," he said, lowering his voice as if this was scandalous information. He stopped in front of one door, his hand on the doorknob as he looked at Larad. "Ready?"

Larad just nodded, irritated with the small, round man. Taranis smiled nervously and pushed the door open, letting Larad step through before him.

There was a woman curled up in a chair by the window, her blond hair dirty and hanging in greasy strings around her face. Her clothing was dirty as well and hang on her too thin frame. She was toying with a gray scrap of fabric, her fingers twisting the material around and around. Her eyes were blank, staring at nothing. She was ignoring the drudge hovering around her, and she didn't even look up when Larad entered.

Larad took an automatic step back, nearly colliding with Taranis. "Kylara?"

The woman didn't turn her head. She just kept staring, although her fingers began to worry a little faster at the fabric scrap.

"Ami, could you leave us for a moment?" Taranis asked the drudge gently. The girl nodded and hurried out, scurrying around Larad to get to the door. Larad forced himself to take a few steps closer, but he couldn't bring himself to the woman that was his sister, who had once been a Goldrider of Pern. Now she was broken.

"Sir?" Taranis said, apparently alarmed by something in his face. Larad schooled his expression, pushing his emotions already. Yes, it was sad, but these things happened.

"That's what she deserves for being a whore," Larad snapped, crossing his arms. He stalked across the room, grabbing Kylara's chin and forcing her face up, looking into her eyes. He hid a shudder of revulsion. "Isn't it? Maybe if you weren't running around with my rival Lords, this wouldn't have happened."

"Please, sir, she's fragile..." Taranis said, hovering behind him. Larad saw the man's hand move, and knew that Taranis wanted to grab him and stop him from hurting Kylara, but that he was afraid of upsetting a Lord Holder. Larad scowled and let go, letting Kylara's head flop down onto her chest.

"She's drooling. It's disgusting." Larad wiped his hands on his velvet tunic. "Send her to Southern Boll. We have an aunt there that will take care of her. Arrange transport yourself, she's your weyrwoman."

Taranis blinked his large eyes in surprise. "Yes...yes, sir."

Larad was already walking away, pushing the image of his sister out of his mind forever. "I never want to see her again."

***

Two men were needed to hoist Kylara up onto the green's back, since she wouldn't move on her own. Once in place, the woman flopped against the dragon like a rag-doll. ~This is alarming,~ Muth said, her eyes tinged with yellow. She didn't like the feel of an unmoving human on her back. ~Is she dead?~

"Kind of." M'khay mounted his green, securing Kylara in his arms. She looked up at him quizzically. "She lost her dragon, remember?"

~Oh. Prideth.~ Muth, being a green, had a poor memory, but the death of the Golds would stick for a while. All of the dragons across Pern had keened. ~Southern Boll has an ocean. Will swimming in the ocean make her feel better?~

"Yes, maybe." M'khay smiled and patted the green's shoulder, silently giving her the signal to lift off. The petite green flew carefully, so as not to jostle her passenger, and blinked between when she was high enough.

Emerging into the warmth and sunshine of Southern Boll was a shock after the crisp Autumn air of Benden and the mind numbing cold of between. M'khay unbuttoned his jacket. Maybe he was imagining it, but Kylara even seemed to perk up a little, her eyes taking in the ocean beneath them. Muth turned gracefully in the air, coming in for a landing in the courtyard.

A slender woman with salt and pepper hair was waiting to greet them. M'khay swung down from Muth's back, then picked up Kylara in his arms and pulled her down. It was an ignominious disembarkment for a former weyrwoman, but M'khay was sick of the formalities.

As he set Kylara on her feet, she threatened to just topple down, but she managed to stay upright. It was the first time she had been standing in sevendays. The woman smiled at M'khay, then turned her curious gaze on Kylara.

"My, she looks different," the woman commented wryly. She held her hand out to M'khay. "I'm Lidoza, Kylara's aunt."

"Pleasure to meet you," M'khay said with a nod. "My name is M'khay, this here is Muth. I'm just here to deliver Kylara."

"Would you mind helping me get her inside?" Lidoza asked. "It seems like she isn't very stable."

"Not at all," M'khay answered, to both parts. Putting an arm around Kylara's shoulders, he half led, half dragged her through the courtyard after Lidoza. Lidoza was significantly shorter than Kylara, so M'khay knew she needed the help. Behind him, he heard Muth's claws scratch on the stone floor as she lifted off. ~I am going to swim!~ she said happily.

~Enjoy yourself, love,~ M'khay answered, smiling. They went inside, and he followed Lidoza to her quarters. The woman had prepared a small bedroom for Kylara. M'khay gently pushed her down onto the bed, where she flopped onto her back, apparently happy to be in a sedentary position once again.

"Do you think she'll recover?" Lidoza asked, looking down at Kylara's blank face.

"Perhaps," M'khay said carefully. He didn't want to get the woman's hopes up, but there had been cases of dragonless folk regaining some semblance of a normal life. "The other Queenrider, Brekke, is recovering. But she has her lover, F'nor." He shook his head, realizing that he had overstepped. "Not to say that Kylara didn't have people who cared about her, but they thought she would be better off here."

"It's all right. I know she's not an easy person to get along with." Lidoza smiled wryly, looking up into his eyes. Her eyes were crystal blue, same as Kylara's, and full of the life that was now vacant from her niece's gaze. "What exactly happened?"

M'khay shook his head. "It was a tragedy. Kylara was...she gave into her desires at an inopportune moment. She should have left the Weyr, since Prideth was close to rising too, but she was occupied and didn't notice."

Lidoza's mouth tightened. "Surely she's not the only one to have ever given in to Flight lust." She looked away, patting Kylara's hand. "I thought dragonriders were supposed to be promiscuous?"

"Not the Goldriders." M'khay sighed. "If you're all right here, I should go. I have Wing training in an hour. A Greenrider's work is never done, you know."

"Yes, of course," Lidoza's attention was on Kylara now, her back turned to him. "Thank you for your help."

"Glad I could be of service." M'khay hurried out, back into the sunshine, seeking Muth's comforting presence. Lidoza's accusing eyes and Kylara's vacant ones were burned into his mind, and it was not something he would easily forget.

***

Consciousness came in slivers. She heard the water moving, waves breaking over sand. Her fingers moved over familiar cloth, which she thought was dragon hide at first but which she eventually realized was a scrap from an old dress. The scent of strong tea and warm bread in the morning became recognizable, at first as merely pleasant odors, and then as something that could sate the uncomfortable feeling in her belly called hunger. Her eyes opened to the piercing, bright sunlight streaming through the window onto the braided blue rug. Slowly, she remembered her own name. Kylara.

Kylara of gold Prideth no more, just Kylara, sad waste of a girl lying in a room in Southern Boll. If they hadn't been told already, none here would ever believe she had once been a Weyrwoman.

The senses came first. The emotions were next. Her rage against Brekke was hot and boiling one moment, ice cold the next. The anger fueled her; it kept away the howling emptiness that lay where Prideth had once been.

When she regained a sense of herself, Kylara switched from not wanting to move to wanting to wander all the time. She roamed the halls of the Hold, retiring to bed only when her body was too exhausted to remain awake. She often went to the ocean, wading barefoot in the water or just lying on the sand, staring at the sky. Southern Boll was not that different from Southern Weyr, and it was easy to visualize Prideth flying across the sky.

Sometimes, when she saw a man, she would feel a hint of her old personality lying somewhere deep inside her. She would move seductively, trying to catch his eye. But it was all instinct. Kylara no longer had the heart for that, or for anything else.

If only she could see Brekke. Then, she would have her revenge, and maybe her soul would come back.

***

Velain's hands moved nimbly across the loom, weaving colors together. He hummed softly to himself as he worked. This was second nature to the Journeyman Weaver, and his mind wandered as he created his tapestry. It was a fairly simple one, an order from a Lord Holder who wanted a small tapestry of his Hold's crest.

He paused to pick up the glass of water beside him, and as he turned, he saw a blonde woman behind him, staring at him. Velain let out a yelp and nearly dropped the glass. He managed to avoid soaking his tapestry and shakily set the glass down again. He took a deep breath, composing himself. Maybe she was one of the new apprentices, although she looked a bit old for it. "Hello?"

She just kept staring, her mouth half open as if she wanted to speak, but couldn't. She was a half wit, then. Velain put his shaking hands on his lap and spoke slowly. "Do you need something?"

The woman shuffled towards him, her eyes going over his shoulder to find the tapestry. She put her hand out, her fingers inches away from the colorful threads. Her lips twitched upwards in a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned back to Velain. "I want you to teach me this."

Velain jumped again. The woman's voice was surprisingly strong, with no trace of lacking intelligence. It was a voice of command. "What's your name?" he asked, a trace of panic showing in his voice. "Are you an apprentice?"

She shook her head. "It's Kylara."

Velain let out a soft gasp. He never would have imagined that he was speaking to the former Weyrwoman of Southern. Rumor held that she had been disgraced, but that didn't matter to a lowly Journeyman. She had once been a Goldrider, and she deserved respect. "Yes, of course I'll teach you," he said, bowing his head.

For the next few sevendays, he taught Kylara when he wasn't occupied with true apprentices. She learned quickly, showing the intelligence that must have enabled her to Impress a queen before.

When she felt confident enough, Kylara demanded to be left alone to work by herself, and Velain didn't dare dispute her. He didn't see her again after that. According to a friend of his who knew Lidoza, Kylara had taken to staying in her room, constantly working on a tapestry.

***

Kylara stepped back from the tapestry. Her hands were aching from her nonstop work, but she barely noticed. Lidoza had tried to slow her down the first few days, but that only led to tantrums. Finally, she had decided that manic weaving was better than nothing that decided to leave her alone.

The finished tapestry was a rough circle with lines sticking out of it, with gold splashes in the background. To anyone else, it would have been unrecognizable because the weaving was so unskilled, but when Kylara looked at the tapestry she saw an exact replica of Brekke's face.

As she stared at the tapestry, all of her rage came bubbling to the surface again. Kylara knew exactly what she was going to do. Her hand slipped under her mattress, where she had hidden a belt knife. She had stolen it right off of Velain's belt when he was distracted by his weaving. She never would have been able to get a knife otherwise. Lidoza didn't trust her with sharp things. But Kylara wasn't going to hurt herself with this knife. No, she had other plans for it.

Knife in hand, she circled the tapestry, grinning wickedly. Finally, she was going to have her revenge.

She worked silently, her breath and the sound of tearing thread and fabric the only sounds as she slashed the knife across Brekke's face. In moments, the tapestry lay shredded at her feet. Kylara laughed softly, letting the knife drop down to the floor. Her work was done.

Lidoza burst into the room to find Kylara sitting by the window, a satisfied smile on her face, tattered threads clutched in her hand. She didn't ask what had happened, knowing that she wouldn't get a response. She just swept up the pieces of ruined tapestry, dumping them into the rubbish bin. She didn't think much of it until the next day, when Kylara began work on a second, apparently identical tapestry.

***

Kylara doesn't leave her room anymore. No one knows if she's even still there. It's been turns now, and she'll be an old woman if she is still alive. Now mothers frightened their children with stories of a woman who makes the same tapestry over and over again, only to destroy it and start anew. And sometimes, if you're up late looking for a midnight cup of klah, you'll hear footsteps behind you, and hear the laughter of a woman...but there's no one there. It must have been all in your head.


End file.
